


With our fingers, we caress the present

by anastasiapullingteeth



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-10 22:53:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anastasiapullingteeth/pseuds/anastasiapullingteeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre does need and want love but doesn’t know how to react to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With our fingers, we caress the present

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I make up headcanons about dead fictional characters at three in the morning.
> 
> Title taken from _Ode to the Present_ by Pablo Neruda.

Combeferre was not very fond on physical contact. Not in an awkward way like Enjolras, who was uncomfortable with any invasion of his personal space and rarely initiated any contact beyond a handshake. No, Grantaire had noticed Combeferre rather preferred ephemeral touches. He willingly accepted Jehan’s hugs, but never used both arms to wrap the poet; or let Courfeyrac rest his arm over his shoulder as they sat together in a meeting, but only after shuddering slightly. He gave comfort by his words, not by caresses, and that’d never been strange.

Grantaire found that interesting. He himself wasn’t a very tactile person, even though he definitely reacted better to the surprise hugs form Jehan, but he wondered how would Combeferre act in an established relationship. He thought that secretly, Combeferre was the most romantic guy on earth and was just waiting for the right person to spread all his love on them. Grantaire kept imagining how funny it would be to see a Pontmercy-ish Combeferre.

But then, the artist began to sleep with him.

The first time it happened, the two laid on the bed next to each other, panting and laughing occasionally. Grantaire fell asleep face down with his arms close to his chest, while Combeferre leaned on his side, his back to the cynic.

Encounters between them became more frequent and, although it was not exactly a relationship and was against everything Grantaire had proposed himself at the beginning of the agreement, the displays of affection made themselves present. He wouldn’t admit it just yet, but maybe he was starting to feel something more for the doctor, something that was no longer merely physical, and it was then that a very specific aspect of Combeferre’s personality became a problem.

One night, after one of their encounters, Grantaire stretched his arms towards Combeferre and whispered, “Hugs are part of the deal, right?” The artist tried to say it as a joke, but couldn’t help the hidden plea in his words. With a half smile, the doctor opened his arms and let Grantaire nestle between them. The dark-haired man hid his head in the crook of Combeferre’s neck and fell asleep immediately.

The next morning, Grantaire woke up alone, or so he thought. When he turned to his right, he saw Combeferre lying on his side, facing the wall and leaving a large space between them. The artist decided don’t put much thought into it for now, but when the event repeated without fail for the next few nights, he began to fret.

The next time, Grantaire didn’t sleep. He snuggled against the doctor as he always did and tried to relax so not disturb him, but remained awake. Combeferre hugged him tightly for a long time, but as soon as fatigue overcame him, unconsciously began to move away from Grantaire until he was cringed at the edge of the bed, his back again to the cynic.

Grantaire said nothing for several days, but devoted himself to observe Combeferre more carefully. Whenever Grantaire began a display of affection, the doctor took forever to react, as if suddenly remembering that it was the socially right thing to do, and not something that came from himself. If Grantaire leaned his head on Combeferre’s shoulder, nearly two minutes passed before the doctor rested his hand on the artist’s tight. Whenever Grantaire ran his fingers between the sand-colored hair, Combeferre just smiled but didn’t lean into the touch.

Something was definitely wrong. It was as if Combeferre only accepted him out of pity, not because he wanted to. Grantaire was obviously not the right person for Combeferre and was just getting in his way. He should put an end to it.

 

* * *

 

It was Friday and the two were watching a movie at Grantaire’s apartment. Tentatively, the artist leaned his head on Combeferre’s shoulder and waited, but the doctor didn’t react. Grantaire sat straight and paused the movie.

"Okay, what the fuck’s the problem?"

Combeferre said nothing, doubt reflected in each faction of his face from the tight-lipped smile until the arched eyebrow. Grantaire sighed heavily.

"Listen, this has to stop. I know you _abhor_ it when I touch you and I don’t want you to feel forced into anything… I know I’m not so easy on the eye, but you don’t have to sacrifice your-“

Combeferre covered his mouth with one hand, the expression on his face hard to read.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, finally freeing the artist.

"That every time I try to touch you in a non-sexual way, it seems like a wild animal is about to eat you. You go all still and react thousand years later."

"Oh, that…" Combeferre removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I know this sounds cliche but it’s not you, it’s me." Grantaire snorted. "I’m serious. Dont know how to explain it, because I don’t even understand it… but I’m not very good with displays of affection… or physical contact, for that matter."

"No shit, we’ve-"

"Yes, I know, but that’s different. Feelings are not necessarily linked to sex and, well, let’s say it’s right there where I have problems."

Grantaire had his mouth open. A question began to haunt his mind and he didn’t know how to express it. “You don’t… I mean, nobody touched you like… in a… y’know…”

"Oh, god, no." Grantaire was relieved. He wouldn’t have known what to do or say if the answer would’ve been different. "No. It’s more like… I’m not very good with emotional issues? I know about them, so to speak, but lack the ability to implement them. It’s not just around you, unfortunately extends to all kinds of personal relationships."

Was then that Grantaire remembered something: the single-armed hugs, the shudders, the fact that Combeferre always seemed surprised when someone showed they cared for him.

And then he understood.

Combeferre felt comfortable when the relationship wasn’t particularly intimate or close, but it was difficult for him to completely surrender to something serious, either in terms of friendship or romance. Wasn’t exactly afraid of commitment or that he didn’t care deeply about his friends, but by being an entirely rational person, the emotional closeness destabilized him to the point of act more by social norms that instinct. Combeferre could rationalize sex if he wanted, but could not rationalize the heart. And what he hated most was not being in control of himself.

"Listen, I… I think we should end this." Grantaire snapped. If this relationship or whatever it was distressed Combeferre, was better to finish it. Grantaire was used to having to give up everything he wanted, nothing that a few drinks couldn’t solve.

"If that’s what you want…"

"Fuck, no. But I can’t help feeling that I’m forcing you into this."

Combeferre stared at him, as if trying to decide what to do next. Finally, he took Grantaire’s face with both hands and kissed him. The kiss was different, slower and softer, and Grantaire couldn’t help but dive into it.

When they broke apart, rather than letting him go, Combeferre hugged him tightly and whispered in his ear, “Don’t go. Just… don’t go.” Grantaire nodded and held him closer.

He smiled against Combeferre’s neck, then. He was sure with time and some patience, they'd find a middle ground in which both feel comfortable. Such optimism wasn’t usual in the cynic, but at the moment, he felt safe. Combeferre wanted him there, with him, and there was exactly where Grantaire would stay.


End file.
